


Life, Love, and what it means to Be

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-23
Updated: 2006-03-23
Packaged: 2019-01-19 14:03:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12411714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: Man was created with a purpose in mind. What is life?





	Life, Love, and what it means to Be

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

**Unspecified, Unadulterated, Undeterred**

 

Where am I? It cannot be real, for reality defies my experience by definition. But where in the furthest corners of my mind is fantasy capable of such purity? I have come to accept that what is real cannot be limited by traditional conceptions of the idea. The design of what is true and alive is too profound, too beautiful in it's simplistic complexity to be bonded to some conventional ideal. What is real? It begs us to ask a question so base it bends the mind. Can we define what is real? The brain as it is works physically in a definable and predictable pattern. Electricty and chemicals compose our perception. But we are limited to what we can feel with our hands, see with our eyes, hear with our ears. Or are we? Is there something more? What makes us live, what makes us feel, what makes us love? I cannot answer these questions. I can only assume that what is presented by my body is what I was meant to accept, what is best. So I lie here, in unadulterated bliss, waiting to wake from this dream. It cannot be real, it is too intense a feeling, it must be the construct of a troubled psyche, it must be something imagined. Love. It must be. This is what it feels like, to be alive. This is what life was meant for. I can see it, the truth behind all the lies, the deceit, the deception. Life is not a game to be played, it is a story to be written. 

I am more happy now than I have ever been. How could I have prepared for this? There is no way to be ready, it has to come to you. Lily is more than I ever could have asked for. I look at her, sleeping silently. Red hair spilling over cotton sheathed pillows, back bare to the night air. Her mouth curled into a smile, even in sleep. Dreaming, no doubt, as I had been. For once, everything is right.  


 

 

 


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